


Those Mournful Doves

by norgbelulah



Category: Justified
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:14:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wakes up to music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Mournful Doves

When Ava comes back to herself she is lying, naked to the waist, on her dining room table. She feels pain from where Dickie’s bullet tore through her, but it seems muted now and not as important as knowing where Boyd is. There is a man over her, but his face seems young, like a boy’s, and he is saying that he’s a doctor, but he grimaces like it’s a lie. He tells her he’s given her something for the pain and she nods, thin-lipped. 

She asks about Boyd.

“He’ll be back,” the man-boy says, short and impatient, “after I take this bullet out of you.” Ava realizes this doctor doesn’t like Boyd, doesn’t like that he has to be there. She thinks it must be that Boyd isn’t there because this doctor won’t let him be. 

Then she thinks that’s for the best. She doesn’t want him to see any more of her grizzly insides than he already has. Even for Boyd, she knows this would be too much.

She feels a prick in her arm and everything starts to fade again. 

She wakes up to music.

 _... motion, love, if I prove false to thee._

It’s a thin little song, reedy and weak, as if from a voice not used to singing. 

It seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. It’s soft, but also the only sound in the room besides her own shallow breaths. 

“ _Oh, have you seen those mournful doves, flying from pine to pine,_ ” the voice sings, slow and unsteady, as if struggling for the words, or even the power to push them beyond the lips and out into the room.

Ava has not opened her eyes, but she feels that she is on a bed and knows they must have moved her. 

“ _A-mourning for their own true love just like I mourn for mine,_ ” the voice here falters and the song comes only in a choked whisper. Ava could only discern the last few words because she knows them.

She remembers her Gram playing this sad little tune many times on the old Carter Family records. It’s an old-time song that Maybelle sang with the auto-harp, one the bluegrass bands play when they want something slow and pretty, one any kid that grew up in Harlan would know even if they don’t care to. 

But Ava does care, in fact, she loves this song. It makes her wistful, like you feel during a quiet rain, or waiting in bed for Boyd to come back from the mine or Johnny’s. 

The voice returns to the chorus stronger, but somehow more sad after coming through that mournful verse, “ _The storms are on the ocean, the heavens may cease to be._ ”

Ava creases her brow in a small frown, unsure who it is that’s singing. She can tell now that it’s someone close to her, sitting next to the bed. By the low tone, she thinks it’s a man, and she wonders. 

She hasn’t stirred yet, unwilling to do anything to interrupt the song, but now she turns her head. She opens her eyes to see Boyd’s lips form the words, to hear him sing, hushed and reverent, “ _This world may lose its motion, love, if I prove false to thee._ ”

He’s watched her move, seen that she’s awake, but he’s just staring at her, as if he can’t quite believe it. He looks storm-wrecked. His eyes are sunken and dark, his skin pallid, like he hasn’t been eating, but finally he smiles at her tentatively and it transforms his face.

She smiles back, wondering how she didn’t know for sure that it was him before. He’d said he wasn’t any good at singing, and really, if you put him in a rock band he would sound awful, but his voice here and now is like some kind of lost treasure. It’s low and sad as he is and there’s beauty buried in it.

“Sing the rest,” she says, voice rough and raspy from disuse and dehydration. “Please, Boyd.”

He closes his eyes in silent acquiescence and takes her hand. His fingers feel stronger than they had before, more solid and heavy against her paper-thin skin. She squeezes his hand and he rubs her thumb gently as hers rests in his.

He looks into her eyes.

“ _I’ll never go back on the ocean, love, I’ll never go back on the sea._ ”

His voice is so much stronger now, and not beautiful, never truly that. But it fills her with some kind of strength, some assurance that she will get through this, she will recover because Boyd is here, Boyd’s hand is in hers, and he is singing to her.

He laces his fingers through hers and he lifts his other hand to brush her flushed cheek. It’s cool and lovely against her skin.

“ _I’ll never go back from the blue-eyed girl, til she goes back on me._ ”

Ava smiles and he looks away, embarrassed. She squeezes her fingers again and he looks back up, eyes grave. “I won’t,” she whispers.

He smiles and his eyes light up in pure, wondrous pleasure. “Oh, Ava,” he says. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: A small note. Here are some links to the song Boyd sings. [This](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-iXemfEkFw&feature=related) is the original Carter Family recording of the song.
> 
> And [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-asKGwO5PJU) is a later performance of the song sung by Maybelle just accompanied by an auto-harp. It's a slower pace than the original recording and it's how I imagine Boyd would sing it.


End file.
